Too Young For Courting
by EstellaB
Summary: Esmeralda Took deals with silly cousins, a rude friend and a close scrape with death. And why isn't Saradoc more sympathetic? Lads!


**In this story, Esmeralda is 26 (16), Honeysuckle is 25 (15 ½) and Saradoc is 22 (just 14). I know that's not exactly well-translated into man-ages, but it's the way they came out. Please give me a little patience, I haven't written an LotR story in nearly two years!**

**Disclaimer: Of course I don't own it, except for Honeysuckle Proudfoot (of whom I am not especially fond). All kudos to Tolkein for creating such comprehensive appendices, the ones that allowed this story to take place. **

Esmeralda Took looked suspiciously around the half-full inn. She was a reasonably regular customer here, since the Bucklanders were so much easier about serving lasses, but she had come in here to escape four of those Bucklanders in particular. The cousins with whom she was staying a few miles away fell into the giggly-but-stupid category of lass, and she'd had her maximum recommended dose of silliness for the day. It was possible, although unlikely, that they might even find her here, meaning that the situation called for great caution. They didn't seem to be in the inn. She took a seat near the fire, and began the half-pint allowed to her by the innkeeper.

"Imagine finding a gentlelass in an inn," a voice said from overhead. Sarra Brandybuck flopped down onto the bench opposite her. "I'm shocked."

Esme snorted.

"That wasn't very lasslike, either," he continued with a smile-it wasn't quite a smirk, though it was close. He cocked an eyebrow at her ale. "They wouldn't let me buy one."

"I'm not surprised. You're only about sixteen." Despite her comments, she pushed her half across the table and gestured that he should share it. Sarra, whilst unfortunately not the Brandybuck male she had hoped to meet 'accidentally' there, was far more welcome than her cousins.

"I'm twenty-two!" he protested. "Anyway, I've come to be nobly rescued."

"Ah, a damsel in distress." She grinned, pulling her ale away from him. "That's enough for my barely-tweenage friend, I feel. I'm not escorting a drunken heir back to the Hall."

He rolled his eyes. "Your cousins are pursuing me again. Please, please do something about it."

"Aren't you a wee bit... well, wee, for them?" Her cousins were younger than her, but still older than Sarra. "Though, it has to be said, I'm not surprised by their appalling taste."

Sarra opened his mouth to object, but before he could, a voice called across the room "Esmeralda, sweetheart! Coo-ee!" He paled, and before Esme could laugh at him, he was under the table, curled into a tiny ball by her ankles. Not really the most practical solution, she thought wryly.

The brightly-coloured, bubbly presence was threading her way through the crowds. Esme couldn't exactly be happy about the approaching lass, but at least it wasn't one of her generically empty-headed cousins, and, after all, there was no harm in Honey Proudfoot.

"Honeysuckle," she greeted her as politely as possible. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm just _splendid," _Honey replied. "But do call me Honey. After all, I call you Essie, don't I?" That was something distinctly like a snicker against her ankles. She kicked the lad swiftly in the chest.

"That you do, Honeysuckle," she replied. "Well, I'm sure I can't keep you, though it has been a _delight _to catch up, and we should-"

"Oh, I've got all the time in the world, darling," Honey replied easily, sitting down in Sarra's place. The bundle at her feet compressed himself even closer. "A good long chat is what I need; it's been_such _a trying day! I've spent the whole time shopping for my sister's wedding day. Do you know, it's thoroughly impossible to find a fabric in burgundy in Buckland! In Hobbiton, there would be one on every market stall."

"I'm sure," Esme soothed as best she could, wondering exactly what garish colour burgundy was.

"And then I was looking for Sarra Brandybuck, who I want to be my escort to the wedding-imagine, me turning up with the heir to Brandy Hall-" Esme did, and suddenly realised why exactly her friend was hiding under the table, "-it would be so splendid! Well, I can't find him-anyone would think he was _avoiding _me-and so a meal and a good natter is quite the ticket. Unless you know where he is."

Something gripped her ankles very desperately. "Oh, I really couldn't tell you," she replied evasively.

"Then let me treat you to a slice of cake." Honey Proudfoot, for all her faults, was sweet and generous. Esme really had no _reason_to dislike her. The girl meant very well. She was just so very... Honey.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly-"

"It's no trouble, Essie, I've got plenty left over from buying my lengths." That was oddly contradictory, considering her complaints about the lack of burgundy. Honey hopped to her feet, and flounced over to the bar. Esme took her chance.

"Traitorous pig!" she hissed, sticking her head under the table.

"You aren't the one she's trying to marry!" he replied. "I'm only twenty-two! I already have enough to contend with, what with Mother and Aunt Hilda pushing Opal Boffin in my direction, without having Honey Proudfoot pursuing me."

"At any rate, you should get out now," she said, tugging his arm to bring him out from under the table. "Leave me to suffer alone."

"I will, so-"

He was cut off by Esme pushing him back to her feet. Honey was barrelling her way back, cake and apple juice in hand.

"Just see this cake, Essie darling!" she announced, crashing inelegantly back to the bench. Esme almost laughed to think that, had she known quite how close the object of her desires happened to be, she would have floated gracefully across the inn and dropped lightly into place. "Just a salad for me, you know; I'm trying to lose a few pounds."

"You've got a lovely figure, Honeysuckle, and-"

"Oh, but _all _lasses can stand to lose a little weight." She looked Esme up and down, and added pointedly, "or a lot, in some cases."

Esme gave a rather stilted smile. Her weight was an issue more tender than most would have guessed. Sarra, beneath the table (and not part of the "most"), gave the floor a vicious poke in response to this insult. "I don't intend to get caught up in such nonsense."

"Oh, well, it's your choice, I suppose; had _I _your figure-"

"Thank you for the cake, Honeysuckle," Esme interrupted firmly.

"Oh, well, chocolate, I can see how you _adore _it." There was no barbed insult that time, or, more accurately, Esme chose not to see it. Sarra heard it, and glared witheringly at Honey's (very ugly, he thought) feet.

Esme, who had been about to take a mouthful of the cake, froze. "There's chocolate in this?"

"But of course."

Esme couldn't eat chocolate without it blocking her breathing. The one and only time it had passed her lips, at her 20th birthday party, it had nearly killed her. Honey had been there. With uncharacteristic patience, however, she didn't point this out, but instead nodded politely. "It wouldn't have been my first choice, but I'm grateful for the thought." She took a gulp of her ale instead, ignoring Honey's squinting disapproval; taking advantage of it, in fact, to pass her heaped fork below the table.

"So, who are you going to go with to the wedding?" That, Esme decided, was the problem with Honey-with most lasses, in fact. There were more important things in life than lads. Probably. But if Esme Took was never allowed to talk about anything but the stupider sex, she would never discover what those more important things were.

She was willing to bet that, when lads were alone, they didn't say a word about lasses. At least not a polite one.

"I suppose I'll be with my family; I'm too young to start worrying about courting and such." She could be as pointed as Honey, when she wanted to be, and the other girl was a year and a half younger than her.

"Oh, but you're friends with Sarry Brandybuck, and he's so _delicious,"_Honey said, apparently horrified. There was a panicky-sounding shuffle under the table, and Esme spoke hastily.

"He's far too young for me-and for you-and he's a lad, not a piece of cake, so I don't see how he can be 'delicious'." She glowered for her friend's sake. And lasses complained about lads treating them as objects!

"Aren't you eating your cake?" Honey had learnt a long time ago not to fight with Esme, on this subject at least, because in a battle of wits-or of loyalty-a Took always won.

"I have, um, dropped my fork," Esme said. The offending silverware instantly prodded her in the leg-unnecessarily hard, she felt. She took it, and loaded it up again. "All better," she smiled, sickly-sweet. "So." She thought very, very hard for a way to get off the subject of lads. "I hear that your cousin's had a new baby; Marigold, I believe?"

"Oh yes," Honey cooed. "She's simply a_dor_able. The spitting image of her father, who is, let's not forget, one of-"

"Your cousins-in-law?" Esme reminded her gently. Honey frowned at the rebuke, and Esme quietly passed the fork back down to her friend. "Listen, Honey-" she thought about the best way to say this. "You do know that _most _tweenage lads only go after girls with one aim, don't you?" One of her toes was indignantly tweaked. "Sarra Brandybuck is a nice lad, but he's too young for you, and the other lads you're going after are not the sort that a gentlelass such as yourself should really be associating with. Remember that whatever you give to a lad, you can't get back."

"I don't see that it's any of your business," Honey said haughtily. "It isn't your life."

"Of course it isn't," Esme agreed, back to her normal, crisp tone. "And, as you said to me, it's your choice." At least she had made an attempt to help. Honey wasn't a bad girl, just not very clever. "Remind me when your sister's wedding is? I know she's marrying well-Budge Boffin is a good catch."

Honey unbent slightly. "Yes, he is. But we always expected Clem to marry well. She's very pretty." She smiled coldly. "I should probably be away. Clemmie needs my help with the wedding preparations."

"Of course," Esme said gratefully. "I hope everything goes well. I'm sure it will." She gave a genuinely friendly smile. "I'll see you there."

Honey nodded curtly, and made her way out of the inn. Sarra began to tug his friend's toe again.

"Is she gone?" he whispered.

"Yes, she's gone," Esme replied, rolling her eyes. "Out you come, and provide me with some semblance of sensible conversation."

Sarra clambered into the empty seat. "That was a nice thing to do, but I don't think she'll talk to you again in a hurry."

"I meant well." Esme sounded frustrated. "Silly girl. Lads. They're all out to use and abuse." Sarra cleared his throat. "Well, except you. Maybe. And Paladin, but he's my brother, so he doesn't count."

He laughed. "Thank you for defending me."

"I didn't want my toe pulled off." She pushed the rest of her cake across the table towards him. "Might as well eat it. It'll only be thrown away otherwise."

Sarra tucked in, and Esme drained her ale. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, broken only when Sarra finished and belched. Esme scowled.

"Really, do you _have _to?"

"Be careful, Esme. Cultivate those fledgling manners of yours, and soon you'll be turning into Honey Proudfoot, _darling._" He grinned, and belched again, just because he could.

"Peace," Esme ordered wearily. "You don't have to associate with girls like that on a daily basis, having your hair critiqued and your figure insulted and every word being a back-handed compliment."

Sarra studied her. "Oh, don't pay attention to Honey, Esme. I thought you were too sensible to let her hurt your feelings. She's talking rubbish anyway. You've got a nice figure and a good head on your shoulders, which is more important."

Esme groaned. "Having a good head on your shoulders is so boring! Lads don't care about sense. She's right. I should have been born a lad, so that I could drink ale and not care about clothes or my figure and not worry about getting a _stupid escort _to a _stupid wedding!_"

"Come with me," Sarra offered. "Stop waiting for Merimac. If he hasn't noticed you by now, he isn't worth all your effort. I'm much better. After all, I'm _delicious_!" He raised an eyebrow, parodying the suggestive style so much in vogue at the time. Esme giggled despite herself. He looked like a constipated barn owl.

"Can't you just let me be miserable for a moment?" she scolded.

"Absolutely not. You're far better company when you're happy. So, will you come to the wedding with me?" He smiled hopefully at her, asking more seriously now. "Even though you're too young for 'courting and such'?"

"As long as you know that it's because you're my friend and _not_ because you're delicious."

"Whatever you say, _Essie._"

She reached across the table and pulled one of his curls. "Don't call me that, or I'll retract my compliance."

"Ooh, long words!" He grinned as she glared. "Lucky me, I get to be the first one to court you. Just think, one day when we're married-"

"I am _not _marrying you, and this isn't courting."

"-when we're married, we'll have a wonderful story to tell our grandchildren, all about tables and effervescent cats."

"Who's using the long words now?" She kicked him gently under the table. Saradoc wasn't Merimac, but he was definitely a start in the right direction. And, she had to admit, she felt an wicked sparkle of satisfaction when she imagined Honey Proudfoot's face on seeing them. She smiled. This wedding was going to be fun.

**--pleads shamelessly for reviews--**


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